Friday, 14 July 2017 to Thursday, 20 July 2017
Today was Bastille day, or the National day of France, with major celebrations across the country. The Bastille Day fireworks celebration in Marseille was blown away by a substantial and sustained wind that blew all day and all night. So we were going to miss watching more than 10,000 rockets exploding over the Old Port on the Mediterranean Sea due to this wind, what a pity!

Now I don’t care much for such wind, I really don’t, and now even less so. And the wind continued to howl around the corners of the buildings like a wounded wolf all day. I felt sorry for myself and everybody else but I felt much better when I remembered that song called Poor Poor Pitiful Me, as sung by Linda Ronstadt; there’s always someone worse off than you!

Well I lay my head on the railroad track Waiting on the Double E But the train don’t run by here no more Poor poor pitiful me

Paris of course hosts the biggest celebrations, also with a military parade, a whole day event, attended by the president. Oh, and there was that other guy there as well, whatsisname Trump who once again made a right royal chump of himself with that peculiar handshake of his. This guy has neither social savvy nor awareness.

And then he looked Macrons wife up and down and declared “You’re in such good shape” he said, and turning to Macron “She’s in such good physical shape. Beautiful“, just like a second hand car dealer would enthuse about a crapped out old volla (Volkswagen). That comment is roughly in line with the Afrikaans slang parlance of “Hey boet, ek smaak jou stukkie”. It once again shows us that money cannot buy class, this guy may have money, but there’s no class whatsoever. He’s like that other Afrikaans saying that goes “Bo bont, onder stront” meaning, on the surface all is grand, colourful and dandy, but go just beneath the surface, and all is shit.

It was 19:30 when we met our landlady Marie downstairs. As you will recall, Marie invited us to watch this legendary Bastille Day fireworks display from a privileged position on Vieux Port, but of course it was cancelled on account of the wind. Poor poor pitiful me… But, she had a consolation prize for us; she was taking us for drinks at her private club down the road, right next to the Calalans beach.

The swimming club called Cercle des Nageurs de Marseille is described by Wiki as “An elite swimming club based in Marseille, France, founded in 1921. It is best known for its water polo team which is the most decorated in France, and also for training many of the French Olympic swimmers, including Frederick Bousquet, Fabien Gilot, Camille Lacourt, Florent Manaudou, Laure Manaudou and others.” And can you believe, Marie’s grandfather was a founding member of the club back in 1921, so one can only assume that she is one of its honorary members!

Before drinks Marie took us on a tour of the club and man, what a privileged position it has with views down to Catalans beach, the cornice, the islands a short way offshore and out to the wide open ocean. She quite rightly describes it as her little paradise close to home.

The club has a covered Olympic sized swimming pool, a covered half sized one and yet another pool outdoors. After a detailed tour of the premises and its wonderful facilities we enjoyed a beer outside at their private restaurant, with vistas out to sea… just amazing. All too soon we had to move on, Marie had family for dinner, and we needed to go for dinner.

 

Adri was in the mood for Turkish fare so she lead me to a little no-fuss no-frill restaurant called Bodrum that she had noticed the other day. We each ordered the kebab plate and man, we could have this stuff every day. After dinner we took a final stroll past Vieux Port back home. We’re gonna miss this place!

 

 

Saturday morning Adri got up at 07:00, I got up at 09:00, which was after my allotted two cups of coffee in bed. You see, when there’s packing to be done I keep a low profile, I just get in the way and get kakked (crapped) out for doing so.

At 11:00 Marie came around to inspect the apartment, she was happy, we were happy. We really became very fond of Marie and as she said, our paths may cross again in the future, and I have a feeling it will. We said our goodbyes to Marie and wheeled our respective lives behind us up to the bus stop two blocks away, now we were on our way to Lyon, or so we thought.

We decided to try the Oiubus, yes, the Yesbus, part of the SNCF national rail network. The Flixbus we tried the other day between Montpellier and Marseille was great, so we needed something to compare it with. And of course, the bus takes a bit more than two hours longer than the train but time is something we are not short off. And in the process we saved ourselves in excess of €100, not bad for enjoying an extra two hours of scenery.

We made it in time for our Oiubus to Lyon but it wasn’t by design, but by fluke. Well, there was a design, but I’m afraid it was rather flawed. But I’m getting ahead of myself… We waited at the local bus stop for bus 82S – of which there should be one every 15 minutes – that would take us to our Oiubus at the train station. Bus 82 arrived and we let her go. The next should be 82S but no, 83 arrived. Surely the next one should be it, but no, it was another 82. How could I have gotten it so wrong! It was now 11:40 and we had to be at the Gare st Charles at 12:00. Oops?

I waved to a taxi; he waved back and continued on his way. A second one did the same. We were in trouble. Then I noticed a taxi filling up at the station next to us and started approaching the taxi guy. As I reached it, bus 82S pulled up. After all this and we nearly missed it! We had a nervous ride to the gare (station), we did not know exactly how long it would take… we got there just on 12:00. Whew!

Now we were in an obvious rush and asked at Information where to pick up the Lyon bus. When the reply, with a frowned forehead of, “Oiubus? Here? To Lyon? No!” came, I started sweating all over my already sweating body. How could I have gotten it so wrong! Turns out I didn’t, it was probably just the competition bus service that was being unhelpful. When I finally found the Ouibus information desk I was directed to Quai 15. The bus arrived shortly thereafter from Nice, with its final destination the same as ours.

The bus was comfortable, exactly the same standard as Flixbus, with a very friendly, likeable and jovial bus driver to boot. The bus also had wifi but capped at 100Mb, which under normal circumstances would be more than enough if you don’t stream anything. I did not stream anything but an hour into the trip it proclaimed my usage was depleted, this was impossible. It was later when I noticed that my Google offline map, which did not complete downloading at home, automatically initiated the download, and that’s what caused my wifi woe. Either way, with a sly smile I slipped my Iphone out of my pocket, now I had another 100mb to contend with!

In our hurry and haste we never had a chance to get snackies for the bus, nor something to drink, so here I was, stuck on a bus with parched throat and hungry as a horse. Fortunately, just after an hour into the trip the bus pulled up at an aire (rest area on the highway) for 45 minutes, I guess the bus driver also needed a break. We got some chips and cookies and Coke and water and what not, we were well fed and tanked up.

 

We arrived safely at the Perrache train station in Lyon, got onto Metro Line A, got off at Bellecour, got onto Line D, got off at Garribaldi and 300 metres further we stepped into our new home.

Our landlord, Antoine and his wife, is currently on holiday travelling through South America so his brother Jonas was there to meet us. After a quick show around he was on his way and we were ready to settle.

We took a walk down the road looking for a supermarket to gather a few things to see us through the next day or two. We found an Intermarche Supermarket that was readying itself to close so we had to hurry. In France, when the closing time says 20:00 it closes at 20:00, not like in SA where it closes its doors at 20:00 and allow customers to shop until they are good and ready. We got what we went for, wine, beer… and a few more things.

Sunday we woke up after a dead man’s sleep but of course, the first night in a new place is never 100% great. And of course one has to get used to the pillows, which always present a headache to me, or rather a neck ache. Too high or too low just doesn’t do it for me, it has to be perfect, I don’t have an easy neck to please.

After our rushed shopping of last night we went looking for more variety and found it at the Leader Price Supermarket three blocks away. We’ve never been to one of these but it felt pretty comfortable, all the supermarkets are pretty similar here, so whether it is Leader Price, Carrefour, Intermarche, Casino, Monoprox, Franprix, Super U, or any other, you mostly get a similar shopping experience. We do however still like our Carrefour though.

On the way back we stopped off at the Casino Express next door to us and “Whoah cowboy!”, I thought when I saw their prices almost double in size. I get it that it is a convenience store next to the filling station, I really do, but they’re taking too much advantage of that perceived convenience. I vowed never to set foot in there again, unless it’s an emergency purchase, like beer.

The menu for breakfast was all over the place, we had to try out our purchases. A heavy kornbrot (rye bread), black pepper and herb feta cheese in olive oil, Brie cheese, hummus, cornichons (pickles), green olives, a four berry jam, and what not, a meal fit for anyone.

Sunday afternoon we watched the Wimbledon men’s final and then switched to the last part of Stage 15 of the Tour de France. Never mind the racing, but the French scenery that is put on display on this tour each year is simply amazing, probably one of the reasons we are now travelling in France. And like everyone else, I guess, I always also hoped that one day, maybe one day, I would be able to see a stage of it somewhere, somehow. You know, that bucket list thing.

And that’s when I remembered that we were indeed in France and that’s when I interrogated the remainder of the tour’s stages. Now the second last stage of the tour is an individual time trial that is scheduled to take place in Marseille next Saturday, so that would have been perfect, only problem was, we were no longer there. I then found that stage 16 would start in Le Puy-en-Velay and end in Romans-sur-Isere, which is roughly an hour’s train ride away from Lyon.

Checking out the different options of getting there, train, bus, car, walk… we said “Nah” to the last one, car would be problematic with parking and the bus schedules were sketchy. So, the easiest and obviously the most expensive arrangement was to go by train, but for this special event we decided to spend that money, hell, we only die once…

I vowed to get to the bottom of the Orange prepaid sim’s access to their wifi hotspots the other day. You may recall that my Orange number worked 100% but was told, in no uncertain terms last week by various Orange stores, that I was lucky, hotspots are simply not allowed for prepaid sims. Today being Monday, I dug a little deeper, emails were sent, phone calls were made, but the answer was ever elusive.

Reaching a dead-end down all avenues, I tried, out of desperation, to connect to the hotspot from Adri’s phone with the username/password combination I had registered last week… And of course it worked, first time, just like mine. The activation of the registration probably just takes a few days to take effect… so much for the “expert” assistance received from the Orange stores; methinks they should give their people better training, or re-train them. But, be as it may, thank you Orange!

Admin and blogging made up most of my day while Adri’s was made up of completing the settling in phase of our one month stay in Lyon. Late afternoon when all was done we took a walk to Part Dieu train station, just so make sure where our train will depart from tomorrow. But, truth be told, we were actually after the large Carrefour across the road from there.

We got home with two bags full, ice cream, chocolate for him and her, pasta, pasta sauces, muesli… and thankfully we did not forget the mosquito coils, the main reason we went shopping. The last two nights we have been chowed by multiple mozzies buzzing overhead most of the night. Adri checked a weather site and they actually warned that the coming days will be bad for mosquitoes in Lyon… or should that have read bad for humans in Lyon.

It was Tuesday morning and the day we would experience the Tour de France, and what made the day even more special is that it was 18 July, Mandela Day in South Africa!

We boarded the TGV train at Port Dieu at 09:35 and 50 minutes later we were at Gare de Valence which is situated about 10km outside of Valence, rather in the middle of pretty much nowhere. But we had no time to waste on such observations; the TGV had run about 5 minutes late so our connecting train had to be boarded within 5 minutes, its platform on the other side of the station.

Half jogging half sprinting we reached the train to Romans-sur-Isere and as we sat down the train jolted forward, we had just made it, I could have sworn the start switch was situated under my seat. A short 10 minutes later we were deposited at Romans-sur-Isere where we were met with deserted streets. Oh no, how could I have gotten it so wrong, were we in the correct town even? I needn’t have worried, after a slow stroll into town we were met with a busyness not seen for a while in this sleepy town.

It was not yet 11:00 and the stage was set, so to speak, there was a calmness lying in wait for the big event. We walked past the presentation stage, the finish line and along the oncoming route, people were dallying here and there, some having coffee at the little restaurants along the leafy street.

 

 

While waiting for the race to start far away in a Le Puy-en-Velay, we walked down to the river to check out the rest of the course into town, then walked along the river and visited the Collegiale Saint Barnard church, then headed back towards where the action was scheduled to be.

 

 

It was now around 13:00 and people were starting to mill about behind the barriers and filing up the restaurants along the way, there was a party atmosphere brewing. As we walked along the barriers we saw an SA flag waving in the breeze which was attached to a South African no doubt. We made a note to say hallo later on, we never did see that flag again, pity.

The sun was beating down relentlessly; we needed shade and perhaps a shandy. We found a pub that was to our liking, sat inside with a fan breezing towards us, and a clear view to the big screen TV on the opposite side of the street, the race had begun in Le Puy-en-Velay.

Adri wasn’t keen to watch me drinking and watching the race on the big screen outside, so she went shopping… well, sort of. Intending to go for a walk to soak up the atmosphere while I was soaking up the beer, sponsors of the race kept putting stuff into her hands, and everybody else’s I might add. There were t-shirts and caps and hats from various sponsors, and key holders and side window sun screens and Carrefour shopping vouchers and… and even a bag to carry all the stuff in. Okay, she was having her fun, I was having mine.

I watched as a little truck with a girl on its back armed with a powerful hose went by, hosing down the people with cold water. She would come by many more times to wild cheers from the crowd wanting a cool down.

The race was well under way and people were starting to stand three deep behind the barriers. I reluctantly finished my beer and got dragged out to the barriers where we found a spot, two-deep, 12.5 metres from the finish line. How can I be so exact, I hear you ask. Well, we were exactly in the middle between the 25 metre signboard and the finish line.

The sun was still relentless and it was still a long wait for the party to arrive in town but we had to secure our place in the sun, we had decided to suffer in silence with the rest of the crowd. The procession of floats of all the sponsors started rolling in with its life sized mascots dancing and cajoling and handing out more products, it was festive.

Then the team busses came rolling past. It was so cool to see that great South African networking company Dimension Data go by, of which I have very fond memories, but allow me to explain…

Gert, sadly no longer with us (bless his soul), had this marvellously cheeky understated sense of humour which made him likeable by all. He was the network manager at Colgate-Palmolive where we worked, and I, as business analyst, had the office right next door to him. He always used to greet me in the morning with a “Hello buurman” (Hallo neighbour) as he breezed in, always with a smile on his face.

Dimension Data won the contract back in the early 80s to assist Colgate in setting up their network infrastructure. And, at the time like now, they were prolific sponsors of sport, at the time cricket was their big thing and they sponsored Transvaal Cricket during the 1980s. Being the main sponsor they had their hospitality suite right above the players’ dressing rooms, a perfect position from where to watch the players go out bullish and come back defeated.

And so it was that Gert was invited to watch cricket matches from this privileged position on many occasions, and on many occasions he invited his buurman along with him. Wow, everything was laid on, from beer and biltong and lunch and supper… and any other drink you heart desired at any given time.

From our privileged position we watched greats like Clive Rice, Alan Kourie, Jimmy Cook, Peter Kirsten, Alan Lamb, Ray Jennings and others go out and come back. And of course we met many of these players as it was customary for them to visit the sponsor’s suite. We were hosted by Doc Watson (real name Bruce, now Dimension Data Group Executive, Global Cisco Alliance), what a cool guy, and of course Jeremy Ord (now Executive Chairman of Dimension Data) who was also always in attendance.

One night after such an outing, it was past midnight, Gert and I lost our car. We concluded that the car was stolen but continued searching in any case, not sure why. We eventually did find the car in a deserted spot where no inebriated soul would ever have thought of parking.

Another time we went back to my place for more drinks and we did ‘n deurnag (went on through the night). We were listening to music and Gert, being impressed with my music collection, decided he needed some of that shit on tape, so we created a few music tapes for him during the course of our drinking session. The day was breaking when he left for home. His wife was so pissed with him until he told her that he meticulously crafted those music tapes, especially for her, and of course all was speedily forgiven…

I was jerked back to reality when the commentator’s voice went up in speed and decibels; the riders were fast approaching Romans-sur-Isere. And then they came around the corner, I could just make them out. I pressed the red button and started recording on my Iphone, following the riders on their dash for the line. Standing one deep behind the barrier I inevitably caught some collateral footage of a guy’s hair trying to grow in this sun, but, be as it may, I caught the action I wanted. All 39 seconds of it!

As we were watching the main body of riders came past the finish line we felt a groundswell, a surge of people moving in. Everybody from much further down the track were making their way to the podium area, so we joined in but were stopped in our tracks before too long; the area had already filled up with a mass of bodies. We watched the prize giving form a distance away, and once finished, it was 15 minutes and the masses were gone, either gone home or to a pub.

Our train was booked for around 21:00 so we had plenty of time to still walk around town and have another couple of beers at another couple of pubs. We also watched the crew start disassembling the barriers, the tents, the tour’s entertainment area, the finish line area, the podium stand, the commentary boxes, the PA systems, as well as the other tons upon tons of equipment.

The organisation that goes into the Tour de France behind the scenes is simply mind boggling, and we saw it firsthand today. This is something you don’t see or appreciate when watching the tour from the comfort of your living room. The tour’s technical team works like a well oiled machine, no rush, no panic, everyone knows exactly what to do when, everyone just gets on with the job, a job they obviously love.

This crew essentially erects a village within a village, with everything running seepglad (soapy smooth) seemingly all of the time. You know that old saying that says Rome wasn’t built in one day? Well, that’s just plain rubbish. These guys build their Rome, and break it down in one day… and tomorrow they do it all over again!

We got home at around 22:30, thoroughly tired, thoroughly pummelled by the sun, but thoroughly happy and content. I ticked off the bucket list.

Wednesday morning we did a bout of yoga. Now why am I making a point of mentioning this? Well, I’m ashamed – or at least I should be – to say we have not yoga’d for over a month. Not once in Marseille did we roll out the green and blue carpets for ourselves. It was a welcome homecoming as we pulled the first few yoga moves, nearly pulling a few muscles in the process as well, but we made it through.

We watched the Tour de France again today, at home that is, and after the prize giving I was ready for my very own prize and I found it on the way to the Leader Price Supermarket. I peeked into a small low-key supermarket and there it was, an Efes beer, that wonderful Turkish delight which I have not seen nor imbibed in yonks. I pulled an ice cold 500ml Efes lovingly from the fridge and bagged it.

At home, with opened Efes by my side, of course memories from Turkey enveloped me, taking me back to the time that Marc, Sandy, Adri and I sailed there back in 2006. We sailed from Gocek and visited places like Fethiye, Kayakoy and Oledeniz. And of course, during our time there Efes was the weapon of choice for Marc and I.

And by the way, it was in Oledeniz that we spoke to the owner of a beach bar, a very friendly chap, heartily sucking away on his Efes. He had on a t-shirt that sayd “I only drink on days beginning with a T – Tuesday, Thursday, Today, Tomorrow, Tednesday, Thaturday, Thunday” And there you have it, easy!

But the Efes did not keep the mozzies away and Lyon’s population seemed to have grown over the last few days. Some power by with their V8s straining under full throttle, some swish by quietly like a stealth spy plane. The former is annoying, the latter is dangerous, you never know from whence or when the attack will come.

We started watching a series called Ozark which is described by IMDb as “A Chicago-based financial advisor secretly relocates his family to the Missouri Ozarks when his dealings with a drug cartel go awry.” We finished the first three episodes and found it rather watchable.

Thursday morning I woke up to Adri swatting mozzies, she’s now gotten the hang of it and man, there was blood on the walls, unfortunately it was ours.

Today was tinged with a touch of sadness. It was exactly two years ago that Adri’s dad, Oom Japie, sadly passed away (bless his soul). We decided to have a drink on Oom Japie to celebrate the wonderful 84 years he spent on earth, and so we moseyed on down to the River Rhone and walked along its wide promenade.

Families and friends were having early evening drinks and picnics out on the steps of the embankment and on the ample grassy areas all along the way. Some people were exercising in groups, some were practicing their juggling skills and yet others were fine-tuning their acrobatic skills. And all this was going on to our right. To our left, the riverside is dotted with riverboat restaurants with seating spilling out onto the promenade where a young crowd filled the restaurants to the rafters. The food looked delicious and the beers were flowing, it was happy hour…

At street level there was a fresh produce food market in the throes of shutting its stalls for the day, the breads and foods and veggies and fruits on display looked delicious, we’ll be back.

Now Lyon is known as the food or gastronomic capital of France, but I must admit to have also seen more beer brands here than what I have seen collectively since we landed in France. Seems like Lyon is also the beer capital of France!? We’ll have to investigate that now, won’t we?

And so it was that I saw a Super Bock, a beer I remembered well from Portugal, being consumed at a pub on our way, and that’s where we made ourselves at home. We sat outside at a table on the sidewalk watching people either on their way home or out for the evening. Very therapeutic; and the Super Bock was of course also adding to this effect.

 

 

 

 

Two friends, one seeing, one blind, took up a table next to us and ordered beers. I was amazed to watch the blind guy pour his drink without any help. While pouring the bottle’s contents – held firmly in his right hand – his right index finger was inserted into the glass, making sure that he could feel the level of the beer. His second beer was poured too fast and he quickly stopped when the foam reached his finger, waiting a minute before continuing on his quest. As I have said before, I have a newfound respect for blind people, seeing them carry on their daily lives unperturbed.

 

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